


It's Just Jealousy

by sidekickjoey



Category: Spies Are Forever - Talkfine/Tin Can Brothers
Genre: And Curt is an oblivious man, Angst with a Happy Ending, Basically Owen realizes hmm maybe I like Curt, But they figure it out, Coming Out, Curt is a dumbass but we love him, Curtwen, Don't worry, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Minor Original Character(s), Owen's a ball of anxiety but we love him too, Period-Typical Homophobia, Pre-Canon, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-11
Updated: 2020-06-11
Packaged: 2021-03-03 18:41:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24670243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sidekickjoey/pseuds/sidekickjoey
Summary: When Curt brings Owen to a dive bar to work through feelings he has for him, someone attractive catches his eye and brings up way more feelings than either of them had planned on exploring that night.
Relationships: Owen Carvour & Agent Curt Mega, Owen Carvour/Agent Curt Mega
Comments: 17
Kudos: 110





	It's Just Jealousy

**Author's Note:**

> FINALLY I worked up the courage to post a Spies fic! This one has been a fun one to write, and not just because I love having them work through their feelings, but also because writing a jealous and emotion-filled Owen is a roller coaster of a time. Please let me know what you think, and enjoy :)

Curt Mega had a big ol' fat crush on Owen Carvour.

He knew it the moment he laid eyes on him. Tall, dark, the softest eyes ever. He wielded the sharpest of wits and yet made Curt, America’s greatest spy, weak and at his command with one look. Curt loved him. He loved being around him. He loved the times when Owen had to save them and chided him all the way home just because it made Owen think of him. That, and he looked something out of Hollywood when he went on those rants. 

He had it _bad_. 

The thing was, Curt could not say anything about it. More specifically, everything in the world was riding against him doing so. Homophobia was one thing. That was a big one, Curt knew. There also was, well, _Owen_ . What if he did not share his feelings? What if he wasn’t even gay? Curt had had brief moments here and there where he figured Owen _had_ to be, but what if he read those wrong? What if his little pet names for him were simply names he handed out to partners? Friends? What if the shy touches on his back or the smirks his way were merely friendly affection and not signs Owen felt something more? It tormented him to think about.

There also was the matter of job security. If Curt went off and found a man to love on the street, that was one thing. Still illegal and risky, but manageable. Sustainable. Owen...Owen posed a whole different threat. 

He was in MI6. He was Britain’s greatest spy. They were well known and well regarded, and any little slip up between them could absolutely destroy their reputations. Curt knew he would be more prone to slip ups if given the freedom to be with Owen. Heck, he had nearly slipped up a few times with them just as friends. One slip up once they were together had the potential to leave them unemployed and disgraced in the blink of an eye. Curt did not want that. He did not want that for himself, and he especially did not want that for Owen. 

So, Curt was in a pickle. He had to either face the music and jeopardize his career, or sit in agony each night while his mind made him think of a world with the man he adored that could not be. He simply was fucked, cruelly by the universe and only in his dreams by Owen Carvour. 

The only real way he could cope with the horrible realization was to what he always tended to do when the world got too overwhelming and he needed to clear his mind: drink. And, given he hated drinking alone, coping involved bringing none other than Owen along with him, because reality was cruel and at least this way he could pretend for a little while. 

So, one night when the ache of what wasn’t overcame Curt, they found themselves at a dive bar. The joint was not far from the safe house they were staying at in Manchester. It was crowded, but the music was good and their prices were not the worst. The two liked it well enough. They shared shots at first -- Owen secretly loved lemon drop shots and Curt was too amused to comment and ruin the fun -- and then settled into beers. Pleasant conversation ensued, and for a moment in time, it was as if none of Curt’s worries existed. He and Owen were simply him and Owen. No pressure. No distractions.

And then, Curt caught sight of something. Some _one._

Through the door, just beyond where Owen’s head was obscuring Curt’s line of sight, a tall fellow walked in. He was more built than Owen, with piercing blue eyes and a good head of blond hair. Safely put, he was not exactly Curt’s type. However, something in the way he sauntered in and took command of the space around him attracted Curt. The way he sat at the bar, swaying his hips before sliding into his seat and flashing a winning smile at the girl manning it, mesmerized him. He nearly caused Curt to spill his beer on himself as he sipped.

He was _hot_.

Curt was not sure what hit him. This man was not Owen. Owen was happily talking away in front of Curt. His posh accent was wafting through the air, carrying on about some silly mission MI6 was considering him for. Normally, Curt ate that stuff up. He normally let Owen go and took the time to watch, to admire the way his smile found its way between amused words and how his eyes lit up when he got really into his stories. But, this time was different. This time, Owen’s phrases did not hit him as hard. Every fiber of Curt was drawn to the man with the golden hair. He was magnetic. Charming. A flame that Curt was inexplicably drawn to. 

He heard Owen clear his throat at him and almost choked.

“I do know you like to scan a room, love, but I will say I am not accustomed to you doing so in the middle of conversation.” His voice was far too British at that moment. Curt could not mistake the slight condescension in his tone, the rise in pitch indicating displeasure. Even his body language screamed disapproval. He felt embarrassed under Owen’s gaze. He was far too sober for that.

“Sorry, I just thought I saw someone I knew.”

It was far from the truth, but Curt could dream. He liked dreaming. He had been doing it ever since he met Owen. It just was not often that dreams held the potential to become reality like this, and it was making things more interesting for him. He felt more confident to be obvious, to steal glances around Owen even with his heightened suspicions to make his dreams come true. He watched the man receive his drink and smile and felt his own cheeks redden. _Oh, that smile..._

“I see.” Owen clicked his tongue and took a swig of his beer, unamused. “Well, if that is settled, might we get back to our thoughts? I know I cannot be the only one who found the president’s speech last night to be utterly-”

“Can you excuse me for a moment?”

Curt knew it was a risk. He could tell from the second he pulled away from Owen that this was dangerous territory, that he should not dare leaving Owen behind for this mystery guy. He could hurt him. He could lose his company. But, his heart was being pulled elsewhere. It had been ignored and tormented for years at the hands of Owen Carvour, feelings apparently unreciprocated and emotions squashed by fear of crossing too many interpersonal lines, but this would be different. This mystery guy had no strings. He was a hot guy in a bar, and if Curt struck out with him, that would be that. He could walk right back to Owen, pretend like he had mistaken the man for another, and smooth things over with more alcohol. If he got lucky though…well, Curt was willing to take the chance. 

He felt hot enough that night. The light grey sweater he wore fit well, though baggier than his usual clothing, and his black slacks looked sleek. His hair was well combed and gelled. Owen had even complimented him earlier. He _had_ to look good. With a few clever words and some carefully chosen body language, Curt would have a shot. As he slid into the bar stool next to the man, he ordered another beer loud enough to draw attention. Sure enough, the man turned his way in no time. 

“Hey.”

“Hi,” he replied, eyes scanning Curt. They felt like lasers to his skin, but he appreciated the attention. “I thought I saw you when I walked in.”

In any other situation, Curt would have taken that as a threat. A spy is a spy, and spying requires spies not to be noticed. However, Curt wanted to be noticed here. He _liked_ to know that he was noticed by this man. In fact, more noticing would be appreciated. He smiled.

“Are you new here? I don’t think I’ve seen you around before.”

The man nodded, nursing his beer. “Yeah. The name’s Michael. What’s your name?”

“Curt.” He could practically hear Owen across the room scoffing at using his real name so casually. Spies never did that. Spies had a slew of fake names at their arsenal to deploy for moments like this. Curt’s favorite was Russel. But, Curt did not feel like being Russel that night, not when those deep eyes of Michael’s were staring at him so beautifully in the bar light. He wanted to be Curt for him. He wanted Curt to get lost in eyes like those, and for them to gaze back at him with his name running through his mind. No sight would be sweeter. “So, what brings a guy like you to a dive bar in the dark of the night?”

The corner of Michael’s lip twitched and he offered a shrug. “Why does any guy come to a dive bar? They need an escape for an hour or two.”

He and Owen went to dive bars for the cheap fries and music. Curt kept the thought to himself and clinked his newly delivered beer against Michael’s, earning a wider grin from the man. _My gosh, I could get lost in that smile._

“It’s always good to not have to escape alone, huh?”

“Yes, it is. Do you often come here alone?”

Curt’s cheeks flushed. He had two options here. The first option consisted of Owen -- the telling about Owen’s existence, the admittance that he and Owen had created a sort of habit of going to dive bars together ever since Curt caught feelings and they found them so close to their safe houses, the confession of things Curt had yet to even confirm to himself. The second option consisted of a lie. A big, fat, juicy lie that would almost definitely get Curt the affection he craved if he was reading this man’s signals right. The choice was clear. Throwing a dangerous wink and a smirk Michael’s way, he leaned in and whispered, “I never leave that way.”

Michael’s face reddened, but he, too, soon donned a smirk. 

It was almost bright enough to chase away the cloud of guilt blooming in Curt’s gut. That could be taken care of with more alcohol.

“So, I take it you’re…?”

The unspoken question transformed Curt’s smirk into a genuine smile. “Yes. And you?”

Michael’s eyes twinkled. “Yes.”

If only it was that easy for Curt to come out to his mother. Or Cynthia. Or Barb. Or-

“Do you want to go somewhere more private to talk?”

Curt felt his heart pick up a faster pace. “Of course. You lead the way.”

The second Michael had spoken, Curt had known they would not be talking. Rarely did such invitations actually involve genuine talking. In the past, when he had traveled to the bar sans Owen, meetings like this led him to one of two places: the alleyway behind the bar, or the men’s bathroom in the larger stalls at the end. Words were never exchanged there. Sloppy kisses were ‘hello’s. Bite marks on necks were ‘how are you’s. Hands traveling below the belt were ‘tell me more about yourself’s. With Michael, Curt expected a whole conversation to take place in either location, and he was _excited_. Hand shoved rather obviously for the venue in Michael’s, Curt allowed himself to be led down a winding hall straight to the bathroom. 

He did not even bat an eye when he swore he felt Owen’s eyes on him the entire way. 

~~~~~~

“Glad we talked.”

Michael laughed breathlessly, his head hitting against the pink porcelain tile behind him. Curt’s fingers had just been grazing that head, his nails digging into skin and making Michael’s breathing ragged. His lips had been on that neck of his, leaving the bruises he knew would appear in a short while without remorse. He had fully indulged in the tall man he saw walk into the bar, and to Curt’s delight, the man had done just the same with him. For the first time in a while, he felt truly satisfied.

Well, almost truly satisfied.

Curt could not help but notice a few things in the heat of passion. For one, Michael was a little too tall for his taste. Curt had to be lifted by him or indulged with a squat if they wished to kiss properly on the lips. Also, Michael was a bit too buff. Not that Curt really could judge, he was buff himself. But, he liked more of a lean guy with some fat here and there -- just enough to show a person wasn’t too into their looks. And his voice! His voice was so deep. It was not the airy, effortless type of voice he liked hearing, the kind that floated in one’s mind and showed all types of emotion in each and every vowel.

It was not Owen’s.

Curt’s smile vanished. 

_Owen._

If Owen was smart, he would have left by then. He would have waited five minutes after Curt disappeared, realized he was busy, and left. Curt could see him now: feet propped up on the living room table, just like Curt despised, eyes scanning the day’s paper, hair dangling in his face. If he was smart, he would be in bed before Curt ever came home. Curt would be something he would find again when he woke in the morning. He would be an afterthought.

But Owen was not smart. Owen was his _partner_. A partner was just as smart as their other partner, and Curt was feeling about as dumb as any one person could be as he pulled his pants up in the restroom.

It made perfect sense for Owen to be where he left him at the bar. It also made perfect sense for there to be two more beers sitting beside him empty. The third was a stretch, and the fourth was a bit troublesome, but still. It made sense. What did not make sense, however, was the scowl on his face. The look of frustration. The discontent. The hurt that radiated in those chestnut eyes of his when he locked onto Curt in the bar light, scanning him over as if he knew _exactly_ what had happened. Curt had never seen that look directed at him before. He could not comprehend why it was there, either. He just felt dirty. Dirty and confused.

Dirty and confused turned into pure shock when, all too fast, Owen’s lips were pressing to his for all to see, including Michael. 

Curt had pictured his first kiss with Owen many times. Depending on the day and his overall confidence, the one who initiated it would change, but the way it happened always stayed the same. They would be in a safe house, sitting on a bed. One of them would confess their feelings, the other would reply with the sweetest of kisses to silence their fears. The kiss would blossom with emotion and they would spend the night cuddling and whispering cheesy lines to each other to prolong the giddiness they felt. 

He had never expected it to go down like this. It was not a bad kiss by any means. Actually, compared to Michael, it felt really good. Owen’s lips were softer. They were forceful given the circumstances, but they were still so soft. They fit better with his. They felt more genuinely hungry for _him_ , not just attention. They took Curt’s breath away. 

But, Curt expected he could smile after they left his lips. He expected he could hug Owen, or Owen would hug him, and the feelings they would share would create the bubbliest of giggles between them. 

That did not happen.

What did, though, was that Curt was met with a scowl from Michael, a mixed look of horror, regret, and something else he could not place from Owen, and about twenty looks of disgust from the bar’s other patrons that made his stomach tie into a million knots. It consumed him. It made his cheeks flush, his heart pound, and his hands turn clammy. His eyes flew from Owen to Michael, to the patrons and their stares, and back to Owen in a panicked frenzy. He was barely able to open his mouth before Owen was sprinting out the door, his long legs carrying him there with but a few strides. 

Curt could only watch, frozen.

That was, until a hash slap hurtled him into reality. A man could grow quite ugly in a matter of seconds. Michael proved that to Curt. He began yelling and berating him, and Curt suddenly had zero intention of giving him the time of day. Even if he had been acting kinder, or if he knew Owen hated his guts, Curt would not care. He cared more about Owen. He wanted to see him, to solve whatever was going on in his head, to make things right. He did not owe anything to Michael. He owed plenty of things, including his life more than thrice over, to Owen. So, Curt did the only thing he could do. 

He turned on his heels and ran, too.

It was about a mile run to the safe house from the bar. Though Curt was tipsy and somewhat sore from his time with Michael, he jogged the whole way, right up to the porch where the lights were not on like normal and forced him to scramble for his keys blind. As he opened the door, he was met with silence. Also unusual. Curt sucked in a breath. 

“Owen?”

There was no response. Not even a noise crept to his ears, tossing a bit of fear Curt’s way. He began to scramble around the house to check rooms. Office: no. Kitchen: no. Bathroom: no. His room: no. He had half a mind to check the garage before his mind stopped him in his tracks. Of course, how could he have forgotten? 

Owen’s room. 

He did not bother knocking. If Owen wanted privacy, he would not have kissed him in front of a packed bar. What he found when the door opened made him wish he had asked if he could come in, though. Owen was at the end of his bed, head in hands, _crying_. 

Curt had never seen Owen cry. He frankly had not been convinced Owen _could_ cry, given how stealthy he usually was with his emotions as a spy and lover of all things acting. The man often sat stoic or smirking. There was no in between. So, to see Owen crying hurt, because it told Curt that this was _really_ serious. Curt hated knowing he caused it.

Owen gazed up with bloodshot eyes. “Curt, I-I.. _.fuck_.”

Curt opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out.

“That should have never happened.”

“...What?”

Owen brushed his hair back, the gel no longer helping keep loose strands at bay. He wiped at his nose and then his eyes to clean himself up, suddenly self-conscious. Not that Curt would have said anything about him, anyway. Even as a mess, Owen was handsome. Curt would own up to that until his dying day.

“I promise it will never happen again,” he murmured, pain evident in his voice. “It was a gross error in judgement and completely out of line. I could’ve blown our cover. Well, I quite literally might have done just that, actually. There were _so_ many patrons. God, I buggered this up.”

“Owe-”

“I need to call Cynthia.” Owen stood suddenly, walking over to his phone on the wall. “You need to be extracted before anything happens. I cannot let you take the fall for this.”

“Owen!”

Brown eyes met hazel in a fierce exchange. Curt gulped.

“I’m not... _mad_ at you.”

The expression on Owen’s face changed from one of determination to confusion. Curt might as well have grown five heads in that moment, he was so befuddled. _Was that why he was crying? Because he thought I would be upset?_

“And why not?”

“I think...I think you know.”

Silence filled the room. 

Not knowing what to say next, Curt took a seat on the bed. He sat alone for a while before being joined by Owen -- just as silent, just as pensive. He had his hands folded in his lap, professional even in such a vulnerable moment. He was not crying anymore, though. That was promising. Curt’s eyes flickered to him and back to his own hands -- fidgety, nervously picked at. He let out a long sigh.

“I’ve known since I was eleven.” 

Owen looked over at him, but Curt refused to move to do the same. If he moved, he would not be able to continue, and if he could not continue, he would probably die. There simply was no alternative in his mind. Not with the whirlwind of emotions buzzing inside him. Not with Owen’s eyes staring him down so intensely and the memory of his lips still so vivid. He had to just get it over with.

“We had a class dance. Everyone wanted to ask out girls. I wanted to ask out Harry Winston, our class’ best soccer player. When I noticed no one else was asking guys, and when Harry’s boxed milk at lunch met my face, I kind of realized. I’m different,” he huffed. “I’ve got emotions others don’t experience the same way and...and that’s life. I haven’t had a doubt about it since.”

“Does your mum know?” He sniffled, catching Curt’s ear. 

“No,” Curt bittersweetly smiled, finally meeting his eyes. God, he looked good. Michael might have had a white smile, but nothing beat the way Owen’s eyes shone. “She thinks my job is keeping me from settling down.”

“And you let her believe it?”

Curt shrugged. “It’s better than the alternative.”

Owen’s head fell. Curt noticed a frown take over his features. His hands became more jittery, too. “I suppose so.”

“Do your parents know?”

The saddest laugh Curt had ever heard left Owen at that. He might as well have felt actual pain from it, it felt so pitiful and shamed. If it were any other moment, Curt would have leaped forward and enveloped Owen into a hug. In that moment, however, he settled for trying to meet his eyes again. They looked back over at him with just as much beauty as before, but with twice the anguish. Curt knew that anguish. He felt it every time he sat in bed at night and imagined a moment like this one, where he could openly talk about himself and his emotions, never coming. He internalized it every time his mother mentioned him not marrying anyone. It hurt to know Owen could feel it, too. It hurt to hear it so plainly leave his lips.

“Let’s just say ol’ boy, there’s a reason why I claim to be a good actor,” Owen said. He carded another hand through his hair. “You and the dozens of patrons were the first to find out, actually.”

“You’ve never acted on it before?” Curt stared back at Owen, incredulous. “Not even a secret kiss? A-A word?”

He shook his head. “Nothing.”

“Why?”

“If my parents caught on, I would be facing a lot more than a screaming mother forlorn about losing the potential of grandchildren,” he replied, tossing a sad smile to Curt. “My life would be over. Even as an adult, the punishment...it would be unthinkable. I’d lose any hope of living my life the way I want to.”

“So...you buried everything.”

“It was quite easy to do, mind you,” Owen noted. “I do not mind being alone. My company is sufficient, and so are my dreams. If I can only experience love in them, then so be it.”

“Then what changed?”

“I saw the way you looked at Michael.”

The two locked gazes once more.

“It’s pathetic, I know,” Owen mused, Curt’s mind screaming that that could not be farther from the truth, “but I’ve sort of fancied you from the start. Perhaps it is your positive view of the future or your ability to always keep me guessing. I don’t know. I just have, and it’s taken up my mind for quite some time. Seeing you look at Michael the way...the way I’ve dreamed about you looking at _me_ …” Curt swore he saw a tear fall to Owen’s lap as he sucked in a sharp gasp of air. “I-It broke me. I do not doubt you have been with others before, Curt. I am no idiot. You were far too calculated and far too confident to not know what you were doing, and it is within your right to be as such. Michael was yours the moment you set out upon him. But, I have never witnessed you with someone firsthand.”

“And you’ve never had to confront the fact your dreams may never become reality.”

Owen nodded. “Precisely. Which is why I stood up and kissed you. I had to know before the chance slipped away. It would have eaten me alive otherwise.”

God, it all made sense to Curt. The suddenness of it all, the desperation, the look in Owen’s eye before he ran away. Owen _liked_ him. The man who always preached restraint and control let loose and kissed him in front of dozens because he _liked_ him and was terrified to lose his shot at letting him know while simultaneously having zero idea how to do so. He could combust under the weight of such a realization. 

Mind full, heart racing, Curt did the only thing he could do. 

He kissed Owen.

This kiss was a lot different than the first. It had more depth to it. More understanding. It also had reciprocation from both parties, which sent a chill down Curt’s spine and a jolt of warmth in his veins. That spurned him to make sure it did not break off prematurely. It made him bring his hands to Owen’s waist, hold on for dear life to the moment, and convey every word his brain could not find the proper way to say through the kiss. He did not dare back away first. He had to let Owen know he was wanted just as much, no matter what.

When Owen pulled back, awestruck, Curt made sure his hands stayed put.

“You had no reason to be jealous,” he whispered. Owen blinked away tears, giving him the urge to reach from his waist and wipe one away. “And you have no reason to hide. Not around me.”

“But-”

“I know you are scared this could get us both killed. I am, too. But, so could our jobs, and we agreed to those.” Curt let his hand rest on Owen’s shoulder. “I see no reason why we cannot agree to this as well. To _us._ ”

Owen swallowed hard. “You truly want that?”

Curt smiled, genuine this time. “I don’t know when you first started dreaming about me, but I’ve been thinking about you ever since you greeted me with ‘hello love’ in that stupid accent of yours.”

They both laughed. 

“I’m tired of lying to myself, Owen, and I think you are tired of it, too,” he continued. “So, why not stop torturing ourselves with jealousy and what we can’t have and instead put our skills to the test on this? It can be our secret mission. _Our_ secret. How does that sound?”

There was hesitation in Owen’s eyes, because when wasn’t it there, but Curt saw something else flash through them. Excitement. Eagerness. The joy that came with finally not having to live a lie in some aspect of his life. The pure euphoria of possibly sharing a future, cultivating a _love_ with someone. With _Curt_. 

And then, in a beautiful smile and a tight hug that nearly caused Curt to fall over on the bed, that euphoria expressed itself as an agreement. It might have been the softest Curt had ever seen Owen. It was surely the most content. 

“Our secret,” he whispered back, nodding as if to convince himself it was real and happening. Curt found it adorable. “No one else. Just us.”

“Just us against the world,” Curt affirmed, stealing a quick kiss because he could.

“And I will have no reason to be jealous?”

Curt laughed and swatted at Owen’s chest. “I told you, you never have. Now stop making me sing your praises, Carvour. I’ll change my mind.”

“Oh, piss off.”

They shared a gentle smile.

“Look, I feel like I kind of screwed up our night,” Curt said after a moment, releasing Owen to stand and clasp his hands together. “What do you say we have some whiskey in the cupboard by the fridge, take some shots, and talk about our new arrangement, yeah?”

Gazing up at Curt, Owen nodded. He too stood and, finding a moment of bravery he once thought impossible, planted a heated kiss to his lips. It left Curt breathless and slightly shaky in the knees. _Why didn’t I be more obvious around Owen again??_

“Sounds brilliant, love. Let’s go.”

Perhaps dreams did come true. 


End file.
